Radio waves crackle exquisitely like an electrical throbbing humming frequency,

Beautiful ellipse, the sun rises bloodying the barren red rock, bloodying the piercing infinite night, Tatiana ‘the Tiger.

“It is beautiful”

Chanting, soaring, echoing, interlaced, interwoven, disintegrates  explodes and harmonises into the near silence, Standing here, breathing through apparatus, roused from their slumber, avenues and pavilions are lined with people, the entire population of the asteroid awakened, here to see this miracle, this beautiful pang.

Underneath a purple plastic Dome, ten mile high skyscrapers tower above and stretch below, metal as cold as the darkness itself burrows into the frozen core to the mines which quarry ice to feed the Oxygen Factories, A dull rumbling ever constant whirring, blow this malaise’ breeze, like a pallid grey sickness, malcontent, and sufficient.

“Such is the home of man in this time,

Desolate and re-vitalized in the depths of deepest time’s eternal night,

What judgement do you bring here, that they should heed?

The universe itself is thy seed, sweet, sheet and Incompletion.

Oblivious to you – they are resolute.”

He turns to them and gestures smiling,

“See what we have done the wilderness.

Still what further consequence do we actually have?

Are we simply a virus?

Is this simply survival?

The bastard Papacy- its father slain in the name of power, fatherless, and its illegitimate offspring of tyrants, murderers, and Protestants,

We protested against them all, and they sent us their thinks and gypsies off into the wilderness, scant love for nought else but their money and they murdered us like dogs in their little games.

I ask you again see what we have done here”’

Static rattles through soothing the frontal lobe, a dull pulse like electricity.

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[[[[[[[[[[[[[]]]]]]}}}{{=

Every ten years Sirius rises, at first it is a pinprick of light on the horizon, and the people are silent as they wait. Then it is reaches perigee, slowly then surely its light pierces the Dome and by some trick or chance or something they found by some instinctual memory, the dome which covers the asteroid city turns blue, and it reminds them of the sky on earth, somehow, even though they have never seen it with their own eyes, and they begin to cry, they always weep themselves into wrecks, for ten minutes every ten years

For them it was utterly beautiful, extraordinarily munificent, better than the moving pictures in the archives

            Then it is gone, far away, a tiny purple dot, in the 9^th quadratic, third sequent, the dominant, ever vigilant, purple witches eye star Vaal, the giant begins to peer from behind its eclipse, the hawk, its gloom was the impending harbinger; a velvet light which dulled to illuminate? Then Baal, the twin of Vaal rises from its, the crow; ascendency, the purple mist is pierced and howling winds shakes up dust and debris on the desolate dead inner planets, hurling titanic maelstrom’s in a mathematically perfect symmetrical, chaotic pattern.

He turns and smiles

‘No we are wanderers, bound to the will to live.’

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A dull rumbling ever constant whirring, blow this malaise’ breeze,

Like a pallid grey sickness, malcontent, and sufficient.